The Guardian
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: On vacation, Napoleon is suddenly called back to New York to assume his role as Section One, Number One. Sad, worried and doubting himself, he turns to Illya for comfort. Written for the Scrapbook 2015 Halloween Challenge. Warning: Slash


For: terristellis

The wind howled outside the small cabin, but the fire kept the interior warm, possibly too warm, from the encroaching winter night.

Illya's fingers gripped the sheets as Napoleon shoved home for the last time and cried out. Illya would have climaxed again just from the passion in Napoleon's moan, but he was long spent.

Languidly, Napoleon lowered Illya's legs from his shoulders, the action pulling his penis free, then stretched out on top of his partner.

"Oof, you've gained weight," Illya mock grumbled.

"We will have to see about working it off." Napoleon nuzzled Illya's neck, kissing the marks he'd made earlier in their love-making bout. "You taste good."

"I thought that was my line." Illya yawned and shifted, dumping Napoleon to the side.

"You're getting old, Partner. You used to be able to outlast me."

"You were in Geneva for two weeks while I was dragging an unwilling package through the Alps."

"Not my fault you were at the top of your class in winter survival. If I'd been in charge of Dr. Fensterwald, I would have handed over a frozen scientist to UNCLE."

"Your mouth is moving, but I hear nothing of significance coming from it."

"Love you."

That earned Napoleon a kiss. "Now that **is** significant."

A communicator chirped and Napoleon groaned. "Yours or mine?"

"Yours?"

"That's not good. Mr. Waverly promised to leave us alone this week."

The communicator sounded again. "Well, it was good for three days." He patted Napoleon's shoulder. "Good luck."

Ilya walked barefoot across the small cabin to the equally small bathroom to clean up. He brushed his teeth while he was at it, head tilted to try and pick up some of the conversation from the bed. Either it was a short call or Napoleon was speaking very quietly.

Illya wrung out a cloth and walked back to the bed. He had cooled off sufficiently that the warmth of the fire felt good on his skin.

"That was short. Must be good… Napoleon?" Illya dropped the washcloth on the tiny nightstand and touched Napoleon's arm. "Napoleon."

The man looked up and Illya felt slightly alarmed at the look on his face. "That… that was Berlin." He cleared his throat. "Um, this afternoon, well, morning in New York, actually…" He stopped and took a deep breath. "They found Mr. Waverly dead at his desk."

"What?"

"They think it was a massive heart attack. It was instantaneous."

"No, I don't believe it."

"It's true. I'm the new Section One, Number One of New York. They are scrambling the UNCLE jet to pick me up."

"You?"

"You are permitted to continue your vacation."

"Like hell I will. How is Mrs. Waverly?" Illya made a face and chastised himself. "That's a really stupid question. Forget I asked it."

"Illya, I'm… I'm scared."

"You? Of what?"

"This wasn't supposed to happen for years. My training is incomplete. I was supposed to come out of the field at forty and work as his assistant. I'm not even thirty eight."

"You will be fine and you won't be alone. The other Section Ones will help. And Lisa, I'm sure she knows what's going on there."

Napoleon ran a hand over his face, brushing away the tears that threatened his eyes. "What am I going to do?"

Illya settled Napoleon back on the bed. "Let me tell you a story."

"Do we have time for this?"

"With that storm outside? Every plane will be grounded until it stops, even ours. We have time." He adjusted his position until Napoleon's head rested on his shoulder. "My grandfather passed when I was still just a boy. He was a hard man, but I still loved him. I was devastated when the doctor came out of his room and told us that he'd passed on."

"That's a normal reaction."

"Well, in my usual fashion, I went into his bedroom and was shocked at what was there. It had not been an easy death for him and what was left was a twisted characterture of the man my grandfather had been. His mouth gaped open and his eyes were staring. I screamed and ran from the house." He chuckled drily. "Just what my mother needed, a nine year old running through the forest at night."

"Where were you going?"

"To my gypsy friends, Onas and his grandmother, Lyuba."

"Instead of your own family?"

"I couldn't explain it." Illya stoked Napoleon's cheek gently. "I just knew I had to be there."

"Sounds like good reasoning." A bit of Napoleon's old spirit crept back into his voice.

"I was nine, what do you want from me?" Illya tempered the comment with a kiss. "I stumbled into camp and Lyuba immediately knew something was very wrong. I broke down and sobbingly told her what had happened."

"What did she do?"

"She told me a story from the Old Times when man and animals lived as one. She explained that when a person died, especially an important person, like a patriarch, they merely shifted their form from that of a human to that of an animal protector. It might be that of a great bird, spreading its wings over its family, or a wolf always circling its pack, keeping harm away." He paused to press his lips to Napoleon's temple. "After a while, I calmed down and she took me back home. As we were approaching, we saw a huge bear shuffle from the woods. I didn't have any weapon and was terrified, but the bear just reared up on its hind legs and watched us. Lyuba kissed me and told me that was my grandfather's spirit come to welcome me home and I truly believed her." He sighed contentedly. "What do you think?"

When Napoleon didn't answer, Illya twisted his head and realized Napoleon was asleep. He smiled, hooked the blanket with his foot and pulled it up. They needed to sleep now. Tomorrow would bring trouble enough.

The call came at dawn, waking both of them from a limb-entangled sleep. The plane had arrived and Napoleon needed to drive down the mountain to meet it.

"Do you have everything?" Napoleon closed his suitcase and looked around."

Illya was loading the last of their supplies into a box. "I think so. We didn't have much time to take anything out." He hefted the carton. "I'll take this out to the car. Why don't you have a last look around?"

"Okay… Illya?"

"Yes, Napoleon?"

"I need to say this now before things get crazy. You are a young man and you still have a good career in Section Two. I have no right to ask this."

Illya set the box down and embraced Napoleon. "You don't have to. My place is at your side."

"You wouldn't feel slighted for coming out early? Out of the field early, I mean."

"I knew what you meant and, no, I am content to be out of it and still alive and whole."

"Thank you." Napoleon kissed him long and deep.

""You need to stop there and we won't be getting down the hill any time soon." Illya broke free from the hold and picked the box back up. He walked to the door and opened it. Outside, the sun was just creeping over the horizon and the sun made the snow blaze white.

A slight movement caught Illya's attention and he slowly turned. A dozen yards from him stood a large stag. It watched Illya as if curious.

"Napoleon, come here quickly and quietly," Illya said, not moving. A moment later Napoleon appeared.

"What's wrong?"

"Look."

"Oh… oh, my, that's the biggest deer I've ever seen. Why isn't he afraid of us?"

Illya smiled. "What does Mr. Waverly have to fear from his two top agents?"

"You mean…?"

"And that's not a deer, Napoleon. That's a hart."

With that, the stag threw its head in an affirming nod and slipped back into the forest, never far and always watching.


End file.
